“Hang on,” I pressed. “We’ve still got the shield while we remain in your vehicle, and I need to know what we’re doing before we take action. I can’t keep plowing forward without a goddamn plan.”
“That’s fair,” he hedged. “As it stands, Azrames is in there, and he might be a bigger threat to me than the angels. I’m not convinced he won’t kill anything that stinks of the Pearly Gates. Heaven may not be looking for me or any other missing soldiers, as they sent several on a suicide mission knowing they’d meet their end before overpowering Betty’s wards.” Silas spoke of the slain angels in theDaily Devilsmetaphysical shop as if discussing cannon fodder in Heaven’s wars.
I thought of the witch once more—the kind, elderly woman who ran a metaphysical shop in the arts district. Or had, until she’d been targeted for affiliating with me. I’d proclaimed myself the antichrist, and so any earthly ties that bound the mortal world with the preternatural—ties like Betty—were an aid to me and, therefore, a threat to my enemy.
Betty and Azrames had worked together for lifetimes. Now, thanks to my meddling, she clung to the barest edges of life in a hospital room.
Tick, tick, tickwent the seconds as I scrambled for our next steps.
I looked at the incompressible scribbles on Silas’s forearm. “Your tattoo—whatever it is—do we still have time?”
“I wouldn’t be sitting here explaining things to you if we were all about to die, but we still need to hurry.”
My face fell. Skepticism drove my fingertips into my palms. “If your tattoo doesn’t tell the others that you’re fallen, are you telling me that they might show up and think you’re their ally? That, what, you’re a mole here eliminating the demons?”
“I get it.” He cut me off, hand clamping down over the fist I’d balled against him. “You have every reason to distrust all of us. The way in which you’ve been manipulated and betrayed will go down in mythology, religion, and history alike.”
I sucked in a painful breath at the words.
Manipulated and betrayed.
Gods and fae from warring pantheons had spotted me in various bodies, in many lives, for more than two thousand years. The realms had been sick of the status quo for a long time and were eager to help Heaven fall. I was the Prince’s human, after all, and when a high-ranking demon impregnated a human, well…
Jesus was born from a virgin.
The antichrist will be born from a whore.
My heart ached at the thought. But I wasn’t about to leave the fate of the world in the hands of some infant. I’d take responsibility for the legend. I would be the thing they feared. And I would do it with my eyes wide open.
Silas said, “You have every reason to have your guard up. But I haven’t lied to you, Marlow. Heaven is coming for your friends because they were already on a dispatch to eliminate threats to help alienate you. Heaven wants you.”
My hand relaxed beneath his, and he gave it the gentlest squeeze. I had trust issues, and he wasn’t holding them against me. I’d been done dirty and had every reason to question every supernatural who’d strolled into my life.
“I’m not going to let them kill you,” I said.
Something cracked behind his eyes. Something helpless, something broken, stirred in them as he looked into mine. I realized at that moment that he hadn’t expected to live.
My brows met in the middle. I twisted my fingers uncertainly beneath the weight of his palm, exceedingly conscious of Kirby’s presence. Still, I asked Silas, “You’ve used your gift before to check on Nia. Do you know for sure that they’re in there now?”
He looked at me, and I understood. Everything horrible was happening, and it was happening now.
I forced myself to relax. “What do you need from me?”
He withdrew his hand. “Give the poppet to Nia and have her invite me in while holding it. You may want to talk to Caliban and Azrames in the time it takes me to get from the car to the door, so I’ll give you a running start. And then…”
“And then, the sigil.”
He swallowed.
Kirby had a vacant look, as if everything we’d said had been the caw of seagulls and the relaxing crest and crash of ocean waves. Our nonsense washed over them, barely more than a soothing burble as they remained in a blissful, distant state. I touched Kirby lightly, drawing them back to the present.
“It’s only going to get weirder,” I said quietly.
Their shoulders slumped ever so slightly. They didn’t turn their head all the way as they looked at Silas, then back at me. “How much weirder?”
Regret was a physical pain as my face folded into an apology. “I’m so sorry.”
With unspoken coordination, we unlatched our handles and crunched onto the road. Kirby landed on the grass strip between sidewalk and lawn. My sneakers thudded dully on the fresh, black asphalt, still stinking of tar. Kirby waited for me to join them before we mounted the three stairs on the gentle slope of Nia’s walkway and made it to her front door.I lifted my fist to knock, but Nia was ready. She threw open the door before my knuckles made contact.
